The world ended in silence.
From the emptiness of space, Elias watched Eirene shatter—oceans boiling away into steam, mountains splitting open, cities collapsing under skies streaked with red and black. He saw airships fall like wounded birds, brass hulls shrieking as they tore apart in storms of flame and ash. The cries of millions could not reach him, muffled by the void, leaving only the brittle hush of a universe tearing itself apart.
He floated alone, drifting among fragments of a world lost, the silence pressing against him like cold glass.
Then, light.
A brilliance so pure it erased the darkness, washing over him in waves, stripping away sight, memory, pain, until nothing remained but white.
And from that light stepped a figure, robed in white so bright it was nearly translucent, its face hidden in the glow. Pale hands and bare feet were visible, each marked by a single hole, bleeding nothing but light, and when it spoke, its voice was a quiet thunder that resonated in Elias's bones, not in the air.
"You will bear the breath of time. Possess it with kindness, for if your heart falters, time will turn upon you, as it has turned upon all before."
The words sank into him like a promise, a warning, a weight.
And then, the light was gone.
Air slammed into his lungs as Elias fell forward, boots striking cobblestones slick with morning dew. His knees buckled under the sudden weight of gravity, and he caught himself with one hand, palm scraping against the rough, cool stone.
A gull screamed overhead, the shrill cry tearing through the lingering hush in his ears.
He blinked, breath shaking, as the world rushed back.
Before him stretched a wide market street near the coast, alive with the hum of dawn and steam. Airships hovered in the distance, tethered to tall mooring masts that groaned under their weight, while cranes creaked as they unloaded crates marked with foreign glyphs. Steam galleons bobbed gently in the docks, their brass pipes exhaling soft plumes that caught the light like drifting banners.
The scent of salt and coal, roasted spices and seaweed, mingled in the breeze that tugged at the hem of his long brown coat. Canvas awnings striped in green, blue, and red rippled above stalls stacked with crates of glinting brass trinkets, coils of copper wire, gears, and cogs, while vendors hawked exotic spices and fresh fruit to early risers.
In his right hand, Elias found an apple, its red skin flawless under the dawn. In the crook of his left arm, a bag of fruit rested, warm against his ribs.
A small laugh escaped him, dry and incredulous.
"Time travel: one moment you're watching the end of the world, the next you're grocery shopping."
He adjusted the fedora low over his eyes, the shadow hiding the weariness etched into his face. His scarf, patched and frayed, fluttered softly against his throat as he took a slow bite of the apple, the sharp, sweet taste grounding him.
"I'm back," he whispered.
The words vanished into the morning breeze.
Elias began to walk, letting the warmth of the rising sun and the gentle chatter of the crowd seep into him, reminding him of what could still be saved.
A mechanical fox, no larger than a cat, trotted past him, gears clicking cheerfully as it carried a small basket in its brass jaws. A boy chased after it, shouting, "Rusty! Rusty, that's my breakfast, not yours!"
Elias smirked, stepping aside as the fox darted between his boots, the boy stumbling after it with arms outstretched.
Nearby, a vendor attempted to juggle oranges while haggling prices with a stoic elderly woman. One orange slipped, bouncing off the vendor's head and landing in a bucket of water with a splash, drawing laughter from onlookers as the vendor gave a sheepish grin.
Elias shook his head, amusement softening the tension in his shoulders.
"At least some things don't change."
He passed a brass automaton seated on a crate, its fingers carefully plucking the strings of a violin, producing a soft, slightly off-key tune that floated through the air. A small crowd had gathered, tossing coins into a tin cup as children clapped to the beat, their laughter ringing like bells.
The morning felt alive.
But beneath it, Elias felt the undercurrent, a wrongness in the air. A subtle flicker in the light, the brief pause of the wind, the violin's off-key note hanging too long before resuming.
It was there, just beneath the surface.
A shriek broke the moment.
A steam cart, overloaded with crates of glinting brass, lurched forward, the driver shouting in panic as the brakes hissed and failed. The wheels screeched against the cobbles, steam bursting from vents in sharp, white clouds as the cart barreled toward a fruit stand stacked with apples.
Elias dropped his half-eaten apple, lunging forward.
Crates exploded into the air as the cart struck the stall, apples cascading across the street in a flood of red and green, rolling underfoot as bystanders scrambled to pull children out of the way. Steam hissed, mixing with the scent of crushed fruit and splintered wood.
An apple rolled to a stop at Elias's boot.
He bent, picking it up, examining the small crack running across its skin as juice dripped onto his fingers.
He looked up, eyes scanning the dispersing steam, the frightened faces, the toppled crates, the brass gears scattered across the cobbles.
A small disaster.
But it was always in the smallest cracks that the world began to break.
The driver, a young man with soot-smudged cheeks and fear in his eyes, stumbled toward Elias, bowing repeatedly.
"I-I'm so sorry, sir! The brakes— they just stopped working, I swear!"
Elias studied the steam cart, noticing the faint glow of a rune etched into the brake handle, pulsing weakly before fading.
"It's all right," Elias said, handing the man the cracked apple. "Get the brakes checked. Before someone else gets hurt."
The man clutched the apple like a lifeline, nodding rapidly before rushing to examine the damaged brake system, muttering prayers under his breath.
Elias exhaled, stepping away as the crowd began to help the vendor gather the scattered fruit. A child, the same one who had been chasing the mechanical fox, approached him shyly, holding out an apple.
"Mister, you dropped this."
Elias accepted it, offering a tired but genuine smile.
"Thank you, kid."
The boy grinned, the mechanical fox chirping at his side, before scampering back to his mother, who was shaking her head in exasperated relief.
Elias stood still, the breeze brushing against his coat, carrying the scent of salt, steam, and crushed apples. He turned the apple in his hand, watching the light dance across its skin.
The whispers were there, in the quiet spaces between heartbeats, in the flicker of shadows, in the fading glow of that rune.
The future was waiting.
And he was ready to meet it, step by step, apple by apple, disaster by disaster.
This time, he would not watch the world end.
This time, he would fight to save it.